


On the Tube

by MizJoely



Series: Sherlolly AU Prompts [32]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5895115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>limajoro asked: For your February prompts, if you are so inspired - 'you're a celebrity incognito trying to hide from paparazzi and you're sitting right next to me and i'm the only one that recognizes you' au - a bit of a "Notting Hill" feel to it? - Sherlolly, of course!</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Tube

She did a double-take, then a surreptitious triple-take as she tried to figure out why the man sitting next to her on the Tube looked so familiar. It wasn’t work, she knew everyone in the small clinic where she was doing her internship. It wasn’t from school…probably? Not that she knew everyone in her class but she was positive she’d have remembered this one. She’d always had a thing for tall, dark and brooding, and this guy had that in spades.

If he wasn’t wearing sunglasses she would have a better idea; she’d always been excellent at knowing someone by their eyes even if the rest of their face was obscured. Her friend Meena said it was positively uncanny, but it was a talent Molly was extremely proud of.

Finally he moved his head, just a little, hunching deeper into the upturned collar of his dark coat (a Belstaff, quite posh and far beyond her humble means), but as he did so his sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose and that was all the clue she needed to recognize him. As he jammed the lenses back up with one finger, his face scrunching in annoyance, she could barely contain her excitement: she, humble little Molly Hooper, was sitting on the Tube next to the famous consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes.

“If you give my identity away to anyone I can assure you, miss, that I am fully capable of making you regret it.”

“Paparazzi?” she asked, instinctively keeping her voice as low as his. No one was paying any attention to them; the man sitting on his other side was dictating some sort of notes into his mobile, and the teenagers next to her both had their earbuds in and the glazed expressions of someone deeply into the music they were listening to. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I promise I won’t even ask for your autograph or a, a…free deduction or anything!”

She couldn’t help the embarrassed giggle that escaped her lips, but squelched as quickly as she could, nervously pressing her fingers to her lips before dropping them back to her knapsack where it rested on her lap.

He turned his head to look at her fully, and she blushed a bit at the intensity of his gaze. It was just like she’d heard it described by so many others: as if a spotlight was being shone on her, dazzling and intimidating at the same time. All without him doing more than scan her head to toe and back again.

With a slight nod, he turned his head forward again. “I believe you, Miss Hooper.” He hesitated a moment, then added even more quietly, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she managed after a moment. As the train came to a halt two stops before her own, she couldn’t help wondering what he’d deduced about her in that brief moment of his attention; what about her made him believe her? His knowing her name, well that was easy enough; her school ID was hanging from the zip to her knapsack. Easy peasy, as her nephew would put it.

“You’re twenty-two…no, twenty-one. One sibling, at least one niece or nephew, one living parent - mother, most likely - and you’re in medical school. You changed from oncology to pathology as your concentration of study and you’re not sure if you’ve made the right decision.”

The words came out in a low monotone, but Molly heard every single one, and gaped at him in astonishment as he fell silent. “How did you…”

“The only thing I can’t quite deduce is whether or not you have a significant other, Miss Hooper. Do you?”

Okay, well that was unexpected! “Um, no, not right now,” she finally said, wondering what that had to do with anything. Why would someone as famous as Sherlock Holmes want to know if she had a boyfriend?

Reaching into one pocket, he scribbled something on a small rectangle of cardboard, then flicked it at her as he rose gracefully to his feet. “I, I don’t understand,” she stammered as she stared up at him.

His lips curved in a smile as he pulled the sunglasses from his face and dropped them carelessly into his coat pocket. “By appearing to engage me in small talk - something I am never known to have the patience to endure - you’ve managed to convince the photographer who was stalking me that he was mistaken as to my identity. He got off the train at the last stop, and now I’m safe to be myself once again.” He nodded at the card as the train screeched to a stop. “You already know my name, that’s my home address, the one not known to the general public. Do me the honor of joining me for dinner sometime? I find I’d like to get to know a bit more about you than a five minute Tube ride allowed me to deduce.”

Then he was gone, joining the milling crowds exiting the car, while she gawked after him, the business card held tight in her hands.

She looked down; as he’d said, it wasn’t his Montague Street flat that was listed, but one she’d never seen in association with his name.

“221B Baker Street,” she mouthed, not daring to read the address aloud. Just in case.

She laughed aloud, however, when she turned it over and read what he’d written on the back.

_Come on Friday if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway. SH_

Oh, she couldn’t _wait_ to curl up with her diary tonight!


End file.
